


blood beat

by sawbones (orphan_account)



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst, Drabble, M/M, kinkmeme prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-18
Updated: 2012-04-18
Packaged: 2017-11-03 20:51:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/385805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/sawbones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Manuel plays in the Veltins Arena in another team's kit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	blood beat

Every time they touch, his body sings. He can feel it in his chest, in his blood and bones, thrumming under his skin everywhere those fingertips sweep. It pulses with each throb of his heart; _come, home, come, home, come, home, come--_

"I miss you."

The words drip off his best friends lips, slither through the noise of the stadium and into his ear. They run through him from top to toe like threads, through his boots and into the firm clods of grass beneath his feet, holding him there. He lifts one foot, shifts to the other like he's testing the bonds that threaten to tie him down again. He twists his lips into a smile or maybe a grimace, lets his hands clap Benni's arms amiably but doesn't dare take off his gloves. He knows the sweat would bond their skin like glue, know he wouldn't - couldn't - pull himself away from him again. Already he can feel himself getting dragged back down, like a rocket stuck in orbit or a parched man by a pool of water. He feels the tug, the urge to dive into him and drink and drink and _drink_ and drown in the familiar blue, but he can't. Manuel jerks back suddenly, tries to laugh it off as though Benni just told him a hilarious joke but it's a little too hard and a little too hoarse and already he can see the hurt bruise his eyes like the familiar purpled hollows below them. He turns his head a degree to the side, his gaze flickering from the grass to the writhing stands to Manuel's pinned on smile.

"Do you have any time before you have to go back?"

 _If I don't leave now I can't go back_ , Manuel's body hums as the words drive themselves into his feet and hands and heart like nails. He heaves a shrug as though he doesn't know for sure but can't keep the shake from his head. He has a little time but it's not for Benni to steal back, it's not for Geselkirchen to claw at - it's for him to carry himself back to Munich, far south like an October swallow before he freezes to the spot again. He shrugs again, lets his hands fall from Benni's shoulder and feels a bit of himself fall away from Veltins.

"Maybe next time," he says, and he'll say it again then too, and the time after that until finally he's cut everything away from him and he can breathe and move and go and grow like he knows he can. The wounds would bleed and ache and weep and keep him awake night after night but scar tissue was stronger. Scar tissue didn't hurt.

_\--keep, going, keep, going, keep, going, keep_


End file.
